


Soir Bleu

by Anonymous



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Synesthesia, Back on my chanlix agenda, Big Gay Love Story, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, anyways enjoy chanlix in love, chan is hopelessly in love w felix, i say that like he isnt also irl, i wrote this in mid October OOF, this is my first time writting synesthesia so PLS be gentle uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Chromesthesia is a type of synesthesia. An acoustic perception evokes a visual experience. Some people see music in shapes and colors, they may have a perception of taste and smell, and in their fingertips, they may even feel a texture.Chan has chromesthesia, and when he hears the sound of chirping songbirds he sees starlight freckles and sugar coated lips and irises fashioned of pure golden caramel.When Chan listens to the sparrows and blue jays, he sees Felix.And when Felix speaks, Chan sees the entire spectrum of color dance before his eyes, in all its vibrancy and life.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 9
Kudos: 144
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	Soir Bleu

**Author's Note:**

> Before we start, i just wanna say i did so some pretty extensive research on synesthesia before writing this, but it was still a bit of a challenge for me. this is my first synesthesia fic, so I apologize for any inaccuracies ^^

Beats pound through Chan’s speakers, a stampede of raucous, unapologetic notes. The arsenal of stereos set up on his producing table like mythical standing stones, emitting a torrent of symphonic power rather than arcane energy. His flimsy desk is at the mercy of the unforgiving tidal wave of musical emotion, trembling under each booming note with the power of an earthquake. The producing software on his computer screen may be alight with neon, artificial color as the beats he set continued to flow through the speakers, but that isn’t the only visual representation of his music Chan can see.

He sees  _ color.  _ Alive and fluorescent and undulating in his vision. A staccato note blares, and prickly saffron yellow splotches sparkle before his eyes. A low bass drop, and shades of rich magenta dip and flip inside out in his gaze. This specific track is on the darker side—both audibly and visually. Aside from the occasional pocket of upbeat tonality, the lion’s share of color Chan sees with each note is richly cool and velvety dark. 

Chan has chromesthesia—meaning he can _ see  _ sounds. Any sound, not just music. 

When you live life seeing what you hear, at times it gets overwhelming. His eyes are assaulted by a ceaseless barrage of abstracted blots of color, all corresponding to specific tones and noises.

The scream of a car’s horn correlates with angry, blinding red blotches. It always hurts his eyes more than his ears. 

The blare of an ambulance siren forces pockmarks of sickening mossy green and nauseating russet brown to claw at his sight. It twists a painful pinch of implacable fear in his stomach every time; a physical representation of that telltale ring of pure, frantic worry. 

Thunder elicits inky, navy crescents that morph into dreamy plumes of thick indigo with each rumbling roar from the heavens. The pitter-patter of raindrops against the panes of glass is a vortex of crystalline aquamarine and lavender, a Rorschach of drip drop pastels swirling about his eyes. 

But it doesn’t bother Chan. In fact, he uses his chromesthesia to his advantage—in his music production. Rather than just the feeling of a note  _ sounding  _ pleasant to the ear, Chan has the uncanny ability to sense which particular notes  _ look  _ pleasant to the eye. Or, at least to  _ his  _ eyes. 

It’s a gift, of sorts. And Chan wouldn’t have it any other way. 

His favorite song is Mozart’s  _ Gran Partita.  _ He sees waves of earthy, muted tones wash over his vision, a typhoon of burnt umber and ruddy hunter green mingling with impossibly deep ultramarine. Chan may be partial to every color of the rainbow—he wouldn’t make it very far if he wasn’t—but he has a particular fondness for shades on the more...understated side. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the pastel lilac clouds that froth before him when he hears Waltzing Matilda—it’s Australia, it’s  _ home _ , in its most primal form. He adores the marigold blots, like phantom sunflowers, that appear when he talks to his mom on the phone—familiarity, safety, and the heartbreaking kind of love that only being separated by continents can bring. As Chan has found, the brightest of colors often accompanies the most melancholic of notes. 

But Chan’s favorite non-musical sound? Songbirds.  _ Hands  _ down.

When Chan hears the melodic chirping of songbirds, he sees starlight freckles and sugar coated lips and irises fashioned of pure golden caramel. Ambiguous and amorphous, but equally unmistakable. 

When Chan listens to the sparrows and blue jays chirp through his window, he sees Felix.

With every other noise Chan just sees  _ color,  _ simplistic and unadulterated. But when Chan hears those avian symphonies, he sees  _ images.  _ Primitive and abstract they may be, but they’re Felix Lee; that is no mystery. 

_ Felix.  _ Felix Lee.

Just the name alone makes Chan’s heart race, makes his palms sweat and fiery excitement erupt in his tummy. 

_ “Felix.”  _ Sometimes Chan just  _ says  _ his name, to see the gorgeous spectrum of color that dances in his eyes after it leaves his mouth. Scarlet red the same color as those plush lips, tawny gold not too far from that sun-kissed skin. It has grown to a borderline Pavlovian addiction. 

Sometimes, rarely, but  _ sometimes  _ Chan can feel certain textures when he hears a specific sound. Whenever he says  _ “Felix”,  _ he feels satin ribbon slip between his fingers, and dove feathers kiss his cheeks, and daisy petals fall between his eyelashes. 

Felix is Chan’s everything. He’s the center of his universe, he’s his sun and Chan is nothing more than a planet revolving around his light. 

Chan’s song came to a screeching halt, and the shifting spots of technicolor lemon yellow and jewel-tone purple dissipate with the final note. And not a second too soon, because the telltale jingle of Chan’s phone immediately sounded in the wake of his track. 

The familiar text-tone sent sparks of neon green across his eyes. 

_ Felix <3: Hi Chan hyung! Can I come over? I miss you ;3;  _

A cheek-splitting grin bloomed on Chan’s lips, forcing tingles of pure joy to race down his spine. Chan felt those bubbly giggles caress his own skin, manifesting in a similar sensation to coating your legs with rich, soapy lather in a steaming bath. Before his mind could catch up, his thumbs are flying over the digital keyboard, and then the  _ send  _ key is pressed. Not like he really had to think about his response, anyways. 

_ Chan: of course, Lix! Come over! I’ll see you soon~  _

“Felix.” Chan whispered under his breath, the single name molded by the smile audibly tainting each syllable. 

He saw blotches of kissable strawberry red and opulent amber waltz between his love-struck eyes. 

_  
  
  
_

🌈🌈🌈

_  
  
  
  
_

“Channie hyung!” 

The impossibly deep voice of Felix cried in delight after Chan swung open his apartment door, and  _ there  _ it is. The explosion. The deluge of every single color known to man jumping and skipping and romping in his vision whenever Felix talks. 

It happens every time Felix speaks, without fail. Every color of the rainbow, technicolor and unnaturally vibrant, veils Chan’s eyes as soon as Felix opens his mouth. 

Sometimes it’s a  _ bit  _ distracting, if he were to be completely honest. Sometimes, he has to will himself to see the living epitome of beauty that is  _ Felix,  _ rather than the tornado of hues that follow his every word. 

“Hey, Lixie Pixie.” Chan mused with a lopsided grin, pulling the younger boy into a tender embrace. Felix’s hands ball the back of his sweater, and Chan could virtually  _ feel  _ the smile that broke onto the other’s lips. 

“I missed you.” Felix mumbled, after he retracted himself from Chan’s bone-crushing hug. Purple. Chan saw a flash of effervescent purple dash across his eyes. He felt plush cashmere envelope his palms. 

“It’s only been three days since I last saw you, ‘Lix.” Chan drawled, feigning the good natured roll of his eyes he felt brewing.

Felix’s hand found Chan’s, and he easily interlaced their fingers together.  _ Found  _ his hand is a bit of an exaggeration, though. It’s not like Chan was hiding it anywhere. 

“A lot can happen in three days. Can I talk to you about something?” 

Felix suddenly looks...apprehensive. His sculpted brows are pulled into a firm set, matching the hardened edge to his angular jaw. Tendrils of uneasy grey slithered about Chan’s gaze, like scaleless, ghostly snakes.

Chan’s tummy began to feel queasy. While Felix’s smolder is admittedly not unpleasant to see, Chan  _ much  _ prefers the usual happy-go-lucky grin that unabashedly stretches his plush lips—that was blooming across Felix’s face mere  _ seconds  _ prior. What if something bad happened? What if Felix has to  _ leave  _ and never come back? A million and one possibilities are whizzing through Chan’s head and colliding with one another; each more dreadful than the next, they caused imperceptible big-bang level explosions between Chan’s ears. 

It scares Chan. The sudden shift has him nothing short of  _ terrified.  _

“S-sure, Felix. Let’s...go talk.” Chan muttered past the blockage in his throat. He feels rough gravel scrape between his toes, feels grains of sand lodge beneath his eyelids with each blink. 

And all he sees is plumes of ashen, ominous grey. 

_  
  
  
_

🌈🌈🌈

_  
  
  
_

They migrated over to Chan’s sofa, Felix instantly nuzzling into Chan’s side like he’s always belonged there. Like he’s Chan’s long-lost puzzle piece that finally found its match. 

And to Chan, he is. Without a doubt.

“So, hyung,” Felix began. “I’ve been thinking.” 

Uh oh. That’s never a good sign—nothing good ever comes from Felix  _ thinking.  _

Last time Felix “ _ thought”  _ was during a sleepover at Chan’s apartment 3 months ago. Felix very evidently  _ “thought”  _ sneaking a contraband pack of hair chalk into his overnight bag was a good idea. He  _ “thought”  _ that at 7 in the morning—in the face of a blissfully snoring Chan all tucked away in his side of the bed—that it would be the perfect time to silently sneak over and put said hair chalk to good use. Chan woke up with a head of broccoli green hair; because Felix “ _ thought”  _ it was a good idea, that it would look “good”. It took Chan a full two weeks to wash that putrid dye from his bleach blonde mop! The white porcelain of his shower is  _ still  _ marred with faded stains of mossy green!

And what’s worse? Chan couldn’t even be mad in the slightest. Because it was purely Felix being Felix—he  _ is _ rash decisions and forgoing metaphoric boundaries in favor of what he deems more  _ fun.  _ And Chan’s life would be a lot more drab and dreary if he didn’t have that freckled embodiment of joy and wonder at his side. Even if his porous locks suffer, Felix is Chan’s color—literally, physically,  _ emotionally.  _

But Felix is still gazing at Chan with unreadable emotion glossing his doe-eyes. Yup, he’s  _ certainly  _ been thinking, all right. Suffice it to say, Chan suddenly felt a pang of fear for his hair’s future. 

Felix sucked in a powerful, steadying breath. Chan was not prepared. Not in the slightest. 

“I think I...love you?” Felix’s statement sounded more like a question, than something profoundly self assured. At first. 

“I think I love you.” There is no invisible question mark tacked onto the back end this time. 

Chan’s heart froze dead in his chest, and his head is spinning, spinning, spinning. And he didn’t just see  _ color— _ he saw  _ stars.  _ Baubles of golden,  _ heavenly  _ diffused light soared through his eyes like the Perseids, as if begging Chan to make a wish on their phantom brilliance. He did not; his dream just came true, without him even saying a word. 

Maybe he’ll have to rethink his  _ own  _ preconceived notions about Felix’s forays into deep thought. 

In fact, maybe Felix should  _ think  _ more often. 

“Y-you  _ what.”  _ Chan choked out, his eyes wide and dazed and staring into some far-off corner of his living room. Felix just giggled, and snuggled closer into Chan’s side, as if he didn’t just bring Chan’s entire world to its knees around him. 

Chan’s brain is in  _ shambles,  _ and Felix is clear-eyed and grinning like he just won the lottery. Although, if Chan’s stunned reaction is anything to go by, maybe he did.

“I  _ said,  _ I think I’m in love with you.” It most  _ definitely  _ didn’t sound like a question, Chan realized through his incredulous haze. Felix’s cavernous timbre is self-assured and unshakable.  _ Unbreakable.  _

Chan’s chromesthesia stayed proverbially silent after Felix’s confession. As if bowing out to give the words the respect and attention they deserve, all Chan sees is the beautiful boy next to him _.  _ His vision is temporarily free of fizzing hues, but that doesn’t mean Chan’s jostled brain is anymore believing of what was just confirmed. 

This  _ has  _ to be a dream, this has to be some sleep-deprivation hallucination or  _ something!  _ Felix, the light of Chan’s life, the personification of joy and happiness and  _ color  _ said he  _ loves  _ Chan. 

On second thought, Chan is now  _ praying  _ this is real life. 

“F-felix,” there it is again, that amalgam of yellow and red, and a speckle of cotton candy pink in an oddly similar pattern to a certain smattering of freckles. No, the blinding colors didn’t stray from his sight for long. But that’s ok. “I think I love you too.” 

Chan feels swaths of gossamer enrobe his entire body, and sticky roasted marshmallows tack skin in dried sugar. It teeters on suffocating, but in the same intoxicating way as a bone-breaking hug from someone you haven’t seen in years. 

Felix chuckled, and darted up to place a chaste peck on the heated skin of Chan’s flushed cheek.  _ Soft.  _ Felix’s lips are  _ so  _ soft, more supple than any imaginary or tangible sensation to grace Chan’s skin. The innocent kiss didn’t help to lessen his fevered blush that balanced precariously on the edge of burgundy. 

“I guess we love each other?” Felix mused, clasping Chan’s hand once again and rubbing soothing circles on the skin with his thumb.  _ Love.  _ What a beautiful word. A word just as ethereal as the boy whose plush lips it just escaped from.

Chan didn’t see color when he heard Felix say  _ “love”.  _ His glassy eyes stayed obstinately clear of a stampede of pigment, and instead all Chan perceives is  _ Felix. _

Rather than seeing a color representation of their mutual affection, Chan sees the very living personification of it. Which, he can now say, he  _ vastly  _ prefers. 

Chan feels as if he’d been punched in the face with down pillow. He feels like he was pushed off a bridge and into a pit of cotton tufts. The wind was knocked out of him and then immediately replaced with life-saving breaths of pure velvet. 

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Chan muttered, numbed as if he’s been slammed over the head with a sledgehammer. A thousand pound mallet of reverence, the hammerhead is wrapped snugly in cushy chiffon as it knocks Chan’s coherence into next month. 

_ Felix, Felix, Felix. _

Just  _ thinking  _ of his name made rainbows inject into Chan’s veins. Made sunshine pour from his heart and burn his ribs, made his skin turn redder than the gloss on Felix’s lips. The gloss that is still partly on Chan’s cheek, drying to a shimmering coat of residual affection. 

He saw spots of emerald and crimson and cerulean tango in his vision, surrounding the figure of Felix Lee like a churning halo of color. 

He sees Felix, sparkling eyes and beaming grin dotted with pinpricks of adoration directed solely at  _ him.  _ Chan sees beauty and love, in its purest form. And he never wants to go back. 

And with Felix by his side, he knows he’ll never have to. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus)


End file.
